A Day in the Life of Durza
by FlyingFish15
Summary: In which we reveal EXACTLY what goes on in Durza's day to day life over the course of the movie. Which is surprisingly amusing...
1. Chapter 1

**A Day in the Life of Durza**

**Drabble #1: ****In Which Durza Mail-Orders Ra'zac**

Disclaimer: We don't own party streamers, or Fed-Ex. We also don't own Eragon, we're just borrowing the characters so we can play with them. We promise to put them back exactly as they were. Well, minus their sanity, of course.

BluEmbyr: Welcome to FlyingFish15 and BluEmbyr's co-authored, random Eragon DRABBLES! For we are the MASTERS of random drabble-ness! Bow! BOW!

FlyingFish15: Just kidding. _RIGHT _BluEmbyr?

BluEmbyr: No I'm not—! is smacked OW! whimpers Don't hurt meeeee!

FlyingFish15: Okay, with that out of the way, let the hilarity begin!

* * *

Durza stood at the top of his tower, gazing off into the horizon and idly imbibing a smoking cup of Alegasia's version of black coffee. It was a beautiful morning, but Durza was sure that despite this unfortunate turn of events, that the day still had time to improve upon itself. Yes, a nice gale-force thunderstorm with clawing lighting and lashing rain could always show up if the weather gods felt guilty about favoring the sunny, clear skied days mortal humans seemed to like so much, and decided to rectify their behavior. 

The Shade turned away from the disgusting sight of the sun rising cheerfully and lighting up the peasants' distant fields where goats and sheep were romping playfully in the bedewed autumn grass. Durza was sure the sheep were purposefully defying him, making a mockery of his power. Well, he would have his revenge! He would destroy them all!

Durza smiled and laughed evilly. He was in a better mood already! He descended the worn, stained stone tower stairs, plotting how best to spend the garishly annoying hours of daylight.

"Well, lets see…today I feel like conjuring some nasty, creepy crawly demons from the depths of Hell to do my bidding," Durza said to himself.

By now he had descended to his very dimly lit, and even more sparsely furnished, room in the dungeons, so he crossed over to the table and sat in his chair, and began rifling through the parchment papers on his desk, trying to decide just how he should go about accomplishing his goal. He moved aside a mountainous pile of papers—all bills sent to him by the Urgals, who had purchased new supplies and weapons _again _because they had lost or broken their others.

Durza, for his part, was still honestly surprised every time he received a bill that the Urgals actually carried writing implements and managed to keep track of them, let alone managed to read, write, and do sums.

_One would think that if they're intelligent enough to do that, that the blundering idiots could keep track of their own equipment, _Durza thought.

He noticed the flames in the fireplace were getting low, and then glanced at the pile of paper. He grinned wickedly. He had just thought of a use for it.

With the fire now roaring quite nicely, and now that there was no need to deal with the bills, Durza returned to his task of conjuring some nasty, creepy crawly demons from the depths of Hell. The Shade's desk was now wonderfully clear, save for a book. Its title proudly proclaimed in large, gilt, annoying advertising letters: _Mail Order Your Nasty, Creepy Crawly Demons from the Depths of Hell TODAY!_

"Well, that's convenient."

The Shade began flipping through the book, marking any pages that contained items of interest.

XXXXX

_**One Hour Later….**_

Durza busily scribbled away at a piece of parchment with a long, black quill. The ink, of course, was red. The Shade was now compiling a list of all the demons and monsters in the—book? Magazine? No matter—that had struck his fancy as generally fitting the bill of being a nasty, creepy crawly demon from the depths of Hell. And it was a long, long, long, LONG, _LONG_ list. It was, in fact, _so long_ that it was draped like a bloody parchment birthday streamer over the table edge, along the floor, over the back of Durza's chair, in between the surrounding iron bars of the nearby cells, then back along the floor until it ran out the door, into the hall, and continued along until it vanished into the darkness because SOMEONE was slacking in their torch-lighting job. Yes, Durza seriously employed someone to do nothing but light torches all day and night, seven days a week, three hundred and sixty four days a year, because with the castle being as old as it was, sections of it had fallen into disrepair, and he didn't want the Urgals, blinded by the darkness in the corridors, to trip on loose stone tiles or other detached pieces of the architecture, and fall and split their heads open while on their way to see him. Splitting the Urgals' heads open was _Durza's_ job, and he wasn't about to let his fun be ruined by a stupid stone floor.

So Durza sat at his desk, writing away with a devious smile on his face, and occasionally referencing the book—at least until the sound of stumbling came from the hall, followed by a loud scream, followed by a thud, followed by a meaty smack that rather resembled the sound created by a sledgehammer slamming into a watermelon.

Durza looked up from his work and glanced through the doorway into the hall.

_Oh good,_ he thought, returning to his work, _I won't have to tear myself away from my work to deal with the lazy torch-lighter after all. Though I _DO_ so hate losing another victim to a stone floor…_

XXXXX

_**Two Hours Later…**_

The Shade thoughtfully considered his list, then viciously crossed out another three lines with a huge 'X' in blood red ink that was, well, _blood_. He had written so much that he had run out of ink, and so Durza had finally found a way for the late torch-lighter's corpse to make himself useful.

Durza looked at the rest of his still very considerable list, then sighed and put a hand to his head. He had a headache.

"So many details! Fire breathing, mud flinging, blade wielding, snot sucking—there's just too many _options_ these days!" cried the frustrated Shade.

XXXXX

**_Three Hours Later…_**

Durza triumphantly held aloft the tattered remains of his list; it was now covered in red X's, had huge rips and tears in it, and one or two massive burn spots. But the important thing was that in the midst of the red lines and charred fragments of parchment, there was, at long last, one circled line of text.

Durza quietly spun around in circles, waving the parchment over his head as he performed an, albeit somewhat muted, victory dance. He stopped, then looked left and right and sideways and up and down and inside out and backwards to make sure no one had seen him, and then cast a spell to make his pen fill out the order form and other necessary paperwork super fast.

The quill pen now smoking and smoldering on the table behind him, doing a credible impression of gasping for breath despite its obvious lack of lungs, Durza sealed the papers in an envelope, gestured at it, and the envelope vanished, to materialize elsewhere on the desk of a bored secretary, who, still bored, opened the envelope and idly read its contents, then screamed bloody murder as she realized the ink was, well, blood. This immediately resulted in her fainting, and eventually resulted in the Mail-Order company, along with all the major shipping companies, adopting a _no-blood-ink-please_ policy to be printed on all future order forms and papers.

Meanwhile, back in his castle, Durza waited patiently.

XXXXX

_**Two Days Later…**_

Durza excitedly rushed to the door as his door bell—literally a massive bell enchanted to make a screaming sound—rang. He flung the doors open.

There on his doorstep—actually a very rocky road—and against the severely overcast sky, stood his two brand new Ra'zac in all their muddy, stained bandages, and covered-in-crawly-bugs glory, each with a formerly white and now badly stained and bug-eaten official label stuck to their chests with packing tape. The label proclaimed: Rush Order Delivery. Below that, in small letters was: _(Get these THINGS the hell outta here!)_

Accompanying the Ra'zac was one very pale and very stressed looking man in a Fed-Ex uniform.

"Sign here. Quickly," the Fed-Ex man said, shooting nervous looks at the two Ra'zac.

Durza expertly summoned a quill out of the air and did so, signing his name with, what was for him, a cheerful flourish. The Fe-Ex man stared at his clipboard and the red 'ink' dripping down the paper.

"Obviously you are admiring my stylish, unique signature," Durza commented.

"Actually, no. It's the…it's the ink. We've just adopted a no-blood-ink-please policy, and…"

The Fed-Ex man saw the developing glare on the Shade's pale, scarred face and wisely stopped short. "Actually, it's a _beautiful _signature! I'll, uh, definitely be keeping this when we're finished processing the paperwork. Collection of, um, signatures and all…"

Durza was flattered. He decided he would actually let the man escape with his life after all.

"Now, there's, um, one last matter to attend to," the Fed-Ex man said, looking very much like he wished he wasn't standing on Durza's doorstep. "I'm to inform you that you will be, um, billed for 1,000 gold pieces for your postage, due to the handling and transportation difficulties posed by your, um, packages."

Durza's smile faded. Then he zapped the Fed-Ex man with fire, leaving a tiny pile of ashes. Just then, it started to rain. Thunder rumbled ominously off in the distance as the wind picked up and the sky quickly darkened until it resembled night.

_Ah, it is turning out to be a good day, _Durza thought as he ushered the Ra'zac inside his castle. Everyone was happy—well, except for the unfortunate Fed-Ex man, who just happened to be unfortunately deceased and his remains equally unfortunately being washed away by the rain. But, at least he wasn't stressed now.

Durza frowned. _Damn it. I may have accidentally done something good, _he reflected._ Ah, well, I will make up for it later. I have such…ideas…_

Authors' Notes: Hope you enjoyed! We certainly had fun connecting everything in our uniquely comical way…We plan to be posting at least two more chapters in the near future, both of which will also deal with Durza, so review and tell us what you think, and if we should post more, as well as any ideas you would like to give us for future chapters. Thanks!


	2. In Which there are Spiders

**A Day in the Life of Durza**

**Drabble #2: ****In Which there are Spiders **

**And Arya Has a Lawyer**

Disclaimer: We don't own cell phones, spiders, or aspirin. We also don't own Eragon; we're just borrowing the characters so we can play with them. We promise to put them back exactly as they were. Well, minus their sanity, of course.

Authors' Notes: A HUGE thank you to all who reviewed! You really encouraged us to continue! And also a thank you to those who didn't review, but did read the insane-ness that is this ficlet. We hope you all enjoy this chapter as well!

Today was _not_ a good day.

True enough, the sky over the castle was the dark, stormy grey Durza liked it to be. And true enough, the Shade's personal favorite physical feature, his straight blood-red hair, was for once completely cooperating without the use of a single spell to straighten out the one or two locks that always insisted on sticking out at odd angles. Also true was that his breakfast of blood sausage had been cooked perfectly, just the way he liked it. But still, today was _not_ a good day.

Galbatorix had been whining _again._

_Perhaps whining isn't exactly the correct terminology,_ Durza reflected as he strode through the corridors of his castle. The corridors were now as well lit as was possible, considering the light was provided by torches and the occasional oil lamp in the shape of some wretchedly sculpted gargoyle. Durza had hired yet another torch-lighter because of the increased activity in the castle due to the rebels in Alegasia and whatnot. After all, Durza didn't want anyone to trip in the dark and smash their head open, as had happened to the previous, and very lazy, torch-lighter—he needed as many soldiers as possible to be intact for the upcoming battle.

No, whining wasn't the word. Ominously and menacingly 'reminding' Durza of the fact that the most powerful and feared Shade in all of Alegasia had failed to find a stupid and defenseless farm boy was a more accurate description. Durza snarled under his breath. The situation was extremely frustrating, and not just because every time Galbatorix 'reminded' him, the king invaded Durza's personal space and breathed on him in such a fashion that the Shade was tempted to remind his king of the value of personal hygiene. It was frustrating because Durza had thought the Ra'zac he had mail-ordered would be more than efficient assassins, but somehow, the boy continued to avoid the creatures' bladed and bug-covered clutches. Actually, was it any wonder? After all, who wanted to be covered in insects? That in itself was probably enough to encourage the boy to fight with everything he had.

_Ick. Imagine, bugs in your hair,_ Durza thought, shuddering and running a pale hand through his blood-red locks. To his intense relief, his hand encountered nothing—wait. _What is this?_ He wondered. _A small stick?_

His fingers closed talon-like around the object and pulled it free, then brought his hand to his face. He opened his fingers. A skinny, many jointed leg was clutched between his pale fingers. Eight beady eyes stared up at him with a wicked expression.

And then Durza _screamed._

The Shade flung the saucer-sized spider away and proceeded to perform that time-honored and perfected tradition of the spider dance, which, as most of us know, consists of a lot of flailing, shaking, and jumping up and down, followed by attempts to levitate away from the evil spider currently staring up at us with badly concealed glee as it runs towards our feet and we spew out profuse amounts of cursing and screaming that increases in direct proportion to how large and fast the spider is.

As it was, the spider was eventually vaporized by a wildly careening fireball Durza threw in its direction. The spider's blackened remains—a few spindly, carbonized legs, nothing more—crouched on the floor smoking sadly as Durza leaned against a stone wall and tried to regain his composure as well as his breath.

_I didn't scream,_ he told himself as he straightened his black and red robes. _It was more of a—a yelp,_ he decided. _Yes, a completely appropriate and dignified yelp. Shades don't _SCREAM._ What a laughable idea! No, no, we _YELP.

He glanced down at the spider's smoldering carcass and had to repress a shudder. _I had a SPIDER in my hair,_ he thought. He felt his skin crawl and frantically glanced down to make sure none of the spider's relatives had dropped by for a visit. He was somewhat relived to realize it was just an illusion created by his mind.

"Spiders in my hair…not good…this is _not_ a good day, no, not at all…" he said as he continued down the hallway, carefully skirting the spider legs on the floor, and compulsively combing through his hair with his fingers while muttering about hiring an exterminator.

_Now where was I?_ Durza wondered. _Oh yes, Galbatorix whining about the Ra'zac's failure to find that farm boy._

The Shade decided he would have to send some Urgals to help, despite their rather expensive habit of failing to keep track of their equipment. After all, it wasn't like he could pursue the farm boy in person; he was far too busy. And even if he could, he wouldn't; such things were beneath him, and would be yet more evidence for the common peasantry to believe that Galbatorix's hold was slipping. Honestly, the mental image of Durza running after the farm boy like some sort of bloodhound was ridiculous! Now, _Galbatorix,_ on the other hand…

Durza smiled. Honestly, he didn't understand why _he_ wasn't in charge.

But he could contemplate that later. He was a busy Shade, and right now, he had some rather pressing business down in the dungeons that had been delayed for far too long by that—horrible—incident with the spider.

Suddenly, a terrifying thought occurred to him. _I hope there aren't any in the dungeon…_

XXXXX

_**A Short Time Later…**_

Durza's cautious journey down to the dungeons had garnered more than a few looks from various soldiers who obviously thought the Shade had descended yet farther into the depths of demon possessed madness. Durza had fried them. Yes, it left unpleasant greasy black marks on the floors, but he had neither the time nor the patience to deal with the soldiers properly. It was far more efficient to leave them for the maid to mop up.

Now he stood poised over his most current and favorite toy: the elf.

The Shade hadn't managed to extract any useful information from her over the course of their past 'discussions', other than the fact that she loved blueberry syrup on her waffles. Naturally Durza had made sure neither food was available to her, except on the occasion that he would place them both just out of her reach on the other side of the iron bars. The elf didn't seem to care very much. Of course, she had been drugged when she had given him the information, so perhaps the information wasn't as reliable as all that.

Or perhaps it was because she had also been drugged when he left the food out.

But on to other matters.

The elf appeared to be sleeping. 'Appeared' because it was far more likely her unconscious state was due to drugs, spells, exhaustion, or just good acting on her part.

Durza leaned over her, studying her. The elf's skin was unnaturally pale due to her months of confinement below ground, and was an almost porcelain white, except for that one black spot there on her collarbone…

Wait. What?

Durza's pale eyes snapped down to the black spot and grew wide upon recognizing it: a SPIDER!

This one was tiny, no bigger than the head of a pin. Durza stared down at it. The spider stared up at Durza. Durza stared. The spider stared. Two eyes met eight as Durza willed the tiny arachnid to simply disappear.

Instead it simply sat there. Staring.

Durza frowned. He couldn't burn the thing to the crispy consistency of charcoal without also burning the elf's skin, and he wanted her intact. So what was he going to do?

"Shoo!" he said, hesitatingly sweeping his hand toward the spider in a half-hearted gesture. "Shoo! Go away!"

The spider sat.

"Shoo! There's a nice dark, buggy corner over there that would be perfect for a web."

The spider sat.

"It's free! And what a bargain price, considering the price of real-estate these days! Usually costs at least a battalion to sweep the annoying rebels and peasantry off the land."

The spider sat.

"Alright, now look here! Are you deaf? Don't you know who I am? I am the most powerful and feared Shade in all of Alegasia! And you, a tiny, defenseless spider dare defy me?!"

The spider sat, seeming completely unimpressed. Perhaps because it knew the most powerful and feared Shade in all of Alegasia happened to be afraid of getting spiders in his hair.

"Alright then! I'll just have to move you myself!"

The spider sat, staring up at Durza, the expression in all eight of its tiny glinting eyes one of amusement.

"This is your last chance! I'm not warning you again!"

The spider still didn't move, so Durza took a deep breath and, leaning away from the table, elf, and the offending spider, reached out with his thumb and pointer fingers. Slowly he moved towards the spider, secretly hoping it would be frightened by his talon-like black fingernails and skitter away.

And skitter away it did—right down the elf's shirt.

Durza stared, his eye twitching, his hand still hovering over the elf's collarbone.

"_Damn it!_" he seethed.

Abruptly, Arya's eyes snapped open and she furiously shoved Durza's hand away as she sat up, the very fires of hell seeming to burn in her angry eyes. Durza stared at her, genuinely surprised. He had been sure the restraining spells had been in order—

"SEXUAL HARASSMENT!" Arya screeched at the top of her lungs. "HARASSMENT! ABUSE! RAPE! I _demand_ to see a lawyer! I'm suing your ass back into the abyss!"

"Too late for that, I'm afraid, my dear," Durza replied, too shocked—and busy holding his sickly pale hands over his equally pale ears—to do anything else. Apparently the drugs he had given her had worn off. "Demonic possession is quite permanent, I'm happy to say."

"I'm NOT your 'dear'! Obsessive control freak! HARASSMENT!" she yelled as she jumped off the table and pulled out a cell phone and presumably began speed-dialing a lawyer.

"Now look here! I was _trying_ to help y—Where were you _keeping_ that?" Durza asked in disbelief, eyeing her form-fitting clothing.

"None of your business! PERV!" the elf shrieked at even higher decibels than before.

Durza clutched at his aching head, his ears ringing. He definitely preferred the elf when she was drugged. The Shade had never heard of elves using sound as a weapon, and he ruefully decided he would have to warn his soldiers of the danger. He also decided that he had had enough. With a flick of his wrist his spell hit home and the elf crumpled to the floor, unconscious. Another gesture levitated her back onto the table and restrained her. As soon as he was finished, the spider crawled out of Arya's shirt and resumed its perch on her collarbone.

Back to square one.

Durza eyed the spider. He was surprised it hadn't been crushed. Actually, he somewhat admired the little creature's tenacity and will to survive.

"Fine. You can stay. But you better not be there when I get back!" Durza warned. Then the Shade turned on his heel and left, closing and locking the cell door behind him, and then he went off in search of some aspirin.

Durza doubted the spider would be there when he got back. The elf was only unconscious, not drugged, and she was bound to wake up soon. Then she could have a staring contest with the spider—if the sounds waves from her screaming didn't scare it off or completely obliterate it first.

So the spider got a fair chance at survival, and Arya had a shot at having some sort of entertainment while Durza was off attending to other business, like dealing with the bills the Urgals would inevitably be sending him once they were sent after the farm boy.

Durza shook his head. _Damn. I'm going soft. Why do I keep doing good things unintentionally?_

Authors' Notes: Hope everyone enjoyed! We have the next chapter written and ready to go once it's edited, and you can expect one more chapter after that. As always, feedback is very much appreciated, so please review and tell us what you thought!


	3. In Which Durza Attempts to Promote

**Drabble #3: **

**In Which Durza Attempts to Promote**

Disclaimer: We don't own chocolate, the state of Florida, or any of the movies referenced herein. We also don't own Eragon; we're just borrowing the characters so we can play with them. We promise to put them back exactly as they were. Well, minus their sanity, of course.

Authors' Notes: Thank you to all who reviewed; we value your comments and LOVE knowing that we're actually making someone out there laugh! The humor continues in this chapter, where we have taken the memorable Urgal promotion scene from the movie and have decided to show what we imagine we didn't get to see. Enjoy!

* * *

The Urgal Captain's bulging eyes rolled up in his head as Durza pressed one long, talon-like fingernail into the creature's temple. Then the Urgal tilted, teetered, and finally toppled to the floor like a felled tree. 

Durza smiled slightly as he looked down at the body, pleased that he had justly punished the Captain for his failure to find the farm boy, as well as his subsequent failure to do it and return without incurring a huge expense through his soldiers losing or breaking equipment. Durza had considered this a key point when he had given the Captain his orders; hiring a spider exterminator to rid the castle of the pesky arachnids from dungeons to battlements was _not_ cheap, and he had hoped that the Urgals would manage to keep their expenses down. But despite their orders and obvious concept of math, the Urgals' habit of losing things had gotten the upper hand: the bills for replacement swords, tents, rations, and general supplies—including, for some strange reason, strawberry scented bubble bath and pastel colored shower caps—were piled high on the Shade's desk, a veritable avalanche of parchment he was sure could feed the ravenous flames of his fireplace for at least a week.

And he should know. He had dumped roughly half the pile into the fire over the past four days, and he was _still_ wading ankle deep through the paperwork that flooded his study, some of which had been decorated with pink ribbons or flowers, or accompanied by a complimentary box of chocolates in a futile attempt to assuage the Shade's wrath.

_Futile especially since the chocolate was white chocolate,_ Durza thought angrily. _Don't my minions know anything?! Shades only like_ DARK _chocolate! Not _WHITE! _That's for sissy heroes like that stupid farm boy! The imbeciles…_

Oh well. At least burning the bills saved on paying to have wood hauled in. And it _did_ give him a sense of vicious pleasure, and certainly a means of much needed stress relief. Really, if things continued the way they were going, the dark circles under his eyes were _never_ going to clear up.

Durza heard a nervous shuffling and glanced up at the crowd of Urgals who were tensely awaiting orders. Or the next execution, whichever came first.

"Oh. I forgot you were still here," Durza said with a touch of irritability. He supposed they were waiting for him to appoint one of them the new captain, but clearly none of them were exactly enthusiastic about the prospect of gaining the position. After all, so many of them ended up without heads or as black, greasy smears on the floor that were mopped up by the maid.

The Shade scanned the crowd and then shrugged. It didn't really matter who he appointed, he decided. The new one was bound to be just as incompetent as the last. He might as well use the 'eeny-meeny-miny-moe' technique that was all the rage with the peasants these days, or have the Urgals all draw straws. Or point. Yes, that would be the quickest. And time was of the essence since he now had to invent yet _another_ new strategy for capturing that irritating farm boy.

So Durza pointed, jabbing his finger towards the crowd as though trying to spear one of their eyeballs on his fingernail. "You!"

The Urgal hesitatingly stepped forward.

"Congratulations. You've just been promoted," Durza announced, smiling cruelly at the new Captain and the other Urgals behind him. They just stared back at him, their eyes darting nervously. Durza rolled his eyes and started to turn away so he could renew his plotting of Eragon's destruction.

And then the new Urgal Captain stepped forward.

"Thank you for your generosity, but at this time I find that I am unable to accept such a promotion and the responsibility that accompanies it," the Urgal said apologetically.

Durza stared at him, amazed that the Urgal could speak so eloquently, let alone string more than two spoken words together. Writing supplies, reading, sums, what would be next? _Apparently this,_ he thought.

"And why can't you accept your promotion?" the Shade asked, truly curious.

"Well, your Shade-ness, I was ordered by my superior—who now lies justly dead before me, due to his incompetence—to take a year-long sabbatical in Florida, away from active duty, due to our unit doctor's finding that I, as well as my performance as a soldier, am suffering from multiple unhealed wounds, in addition to low self-esteem issues caused by my socially unaccepted appearance, and my multiple cases of schizophrenia." The Urgal wrung his hands and looked even more apologetic. Durza stared at him, briefly wondering exactly _where_ this 'Florida' was and where exactly the title 'Shade-ness' had come from.

"Multiple cases of schizophrenia? What, is one of your multiple personalities a schizophrenic as well?" Durza inquired dryly.

"I'm afraid so, your Shade-ness. And due to my mental instability, I think it unfair to these soldiers that I be put in command of their lives. For instance, sometimes I—LUKE! I AM YOUR FATHER!—THE PHA-A-A-NTOM OF THE O-O-OPERA IS THERE—Why is the rum _always_ gone? And then the dolphins decided to leave Earth by their own means. _So long and thanks for all the F-F-F-I-I-I-ISH!_"

Suddenly, the Urgal shook his head and snapped out of it. He looked around at his brutish comrades, who stared silently at him. Durza couldn't help but stare as well, despite realizing that he was doing an uncharacteristic amount of staring in one day.

"Oh my. It happened again, didn't it? EVERYTHING IS TOPSY TURVY AT THE FEAST OF _FOOLS!_ SUPERCALIFRAGILISTICEXPIALIDOCIOUS! One ring to rule them all! We have so much _history_ together, you and I, Gabriel—!"

"—And that's why I'm relieving you of duty until further notice," Durza quickly interrupted. He gingerly patted the confused looking Urgal on the back. "Enjoy 'Florida'."

The Shade then gestured to two of the other Urgals, who quickly led their former Captain from the room. Durza sighed and shook his head, rubbing at his temples as shouts of "SOMEWHERE OVER THE RAINBOW—!" echoed down the hall and into the chamber, long after the former Captain was gone from sight.

Durza turned to the remaining Urgals, all of which were now understandably looking very edgy.

"Okay then. Which of you is mentally stable?"

None of the Urgals raised their hands.

_Of course, I forgot,_ Durza thought, rolling his eyes. _They're all certifiable psychotic murderers. No mentally stable among them._ Durza sighed again.

"I guess it's back to drawing straws, then."

Authors' Notes: Hehe! That was a fun one! Hope you enjoyed. We might do one more chapter, this time with Eragon also making an appearance. Please review!


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